


Oubliette

by AliceInKinkland



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInKinkland/pseuds/AliceInKinkland
Summary: It is easiest when Phedre forgets.
Relationships: Phèdre nó Delaunay/Melisande Shahrizai
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2020





	Oubliette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glyphsinateacup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glyphsinateacup/gifts).



> For Femslash Exchange 2020, for glyphsinateacup, who requested this pairing and said, _“Okay, so we're all aware that there were like, reasons of "politics" and "personal autonomy" and "already having a devoted partner" that Phèdre didn't take Melisande up on her threat/offer of just keeping her locked in a pretty room somewhere, but wouldn't it have been kinda hot though?_
> 
> You're totally right! This was super hot and a lot of fun! Thanks for giving me a chance to write it!

It is easiest when Phèdre forgets. 

There are long, glorious nights when Phèdre barely thinks of her life before she became Melisande’s pet. Melisande consumes her, and Phèdre revels in the conflagration of her selfhood until it feels as though she has spent her entire life kneeling at this woman’s feet. There is no guilt, no nagging sense of duty, no urge towards autonomy. Nothing but Melisande.

Tonight is not one of those nights.

Tonight, Melisande is gloating. Phèdre does not know what has happened, but she can tell that something has gone Melisande’s way, another piece of her plan falling into place. Perhaps Phèdre could have stopped her, if she had not fallen so totally into Melisande’s trap. 

“You seem a world away, my love,” says Melisande. She sits in her chair, the one that lives in Phèdre’s dungeon home but which Phèdre herself is forbidden from occupying, her red velvet dress neat, hair perfectly coiffed. Phèdre kneels at her feet, naked, nipples adorned with ruby-encrusted clamps.

“My apologies, my lady,” says Phèdre. She wills the pain in her nipples and the slight reprimand in Melisande’s voice to ground her. Perhaps, back when she had her grand hopes and her obligations and her calling, she would have considered this cowardice. But now, this is where she belongs, at Melisande’s side, and so Melisande’s will is her only duty.

She has made her choice, and though she cannot say it was right, it is nonetheless final.

“Perhaps you require a distraction?” says Melisande.

Phèdre feels an overwhelming urge to kiss Melisande’s feet. No one but Melisande would understand so well. “Please,” she whispers. _Please let me lose myself in you_. 

Melisande reaches down, cupping Phèdre’s chin in her soft palm. Phèdre leans into the touch, her lips parting. She looks into Melisande’s eyes, and already the outside world is beginning to fade away.

“Get up,” says Melisande, and Phèdre complies, rising to unsteady feet. Desire pools between her legs. 

As she rises, she takes in the room around her: the lush four-poster bed, the stocks, the flagellery. The tapestries hung over the cool stones walls of this dungeon. They are deep underground, Phèdre is fairly certain, although with no windows she cannot tell for sure. The door locks sturdily, and outside stand guards specifically chosen to be immune to the charms of a beautiful woman ready to bargain her body for a chance at freedom.

Phèdre has not seriously thought of escape for a long time. Captivity has wrapped itself around her like a soft blanket. But tonight, she remembers too much, and the walls around her feel as though they will close in and crush her, her and Melisande both, trapping them in the amber of their desire. 

“Kneel on the bed, up on your knees,” says Melisande. Others might miss the tone of care in Melisande’s voice, but Phèdre knows how to recognize it. Melisande sees what Phèdre needs. And tonight, as she does every night, Melisande will provide it.

Phèdre kneels up on the bed, and Melisande ties each of her wrists in turn to the bedpost over her head. She guides Phèdre’s legs apart, her fingers lingering for one agonizing second against the dripping core of Phèdre’s desire before pulling away.

“You know this is exactly where you are meant to be, don’t you, my pet?” says Melisande. She seats herself on the bed facing Phèdre, elegantly sprawled across the pillows. How she always manages to look so cool, so poised, even as the heat must be rising in her cheeks and between her legs, Phèdre cannot fathom.

“Yes, my lady,” says Phèdre, the desired response but no more. She cannot help from being obedient, but tonight, some small part of her balks at how close Melisande is to breaking her, yearns for the very different clarity of purpose she knows she once felt.

“Say it,” says Melisande, her smile sharp as one of her knives. “Say this is exactly where you are meant to be, that the gods will it.”

“My lady,” says Phèdre, her arms beginning to ache deliciously in their bindings, “I cannot claim to know the will of the gods.”

Melisande laughs. The room always seems too small to hold the both of them, and doubly so when Melisande is laughing. 

“All in good time, I suppose,” says Melisande. She rises from the bed, and moves to stand behind Phèdre, raking her nails down Phèdre’s back. Phèdre leans into her touch. More, she wants more, wants to be so overwhelmed with feeling that she knows nothing but Melisande, nothing but her own yielding to her. 

Melisande, of course, is more than ready to oblige. 

Melisande walks to the flagellery that darkens one corner of Phèdre’s lush prison. She selects a cat with little metal beads hanging from each string, and Phèdre cannot quite stifle her gasp of fear and desire. Melisande laughs indulgently at the sound, making her way back to Phèdre, and when she arrives she wastes no time in beginning, sending a searing stroke across Phèdre’s shoulder blades.

Pain and gratitude suffuse Phèdre like warm spiced wine.

Melisande gives Phèdre blow after blow, and Phèdre feels the heat rising inside her, her vision growing steadily more red. She begins twisting in her bonds, unsure if she wants to move away from the pain or towards it. No matter; bound as she is, either impulse is deliciously futile.

Soon rivulets run down Phèdre’s back, and Phèdre cannot tell if it is sweat or blood. Then there is wetness on her cheeks as well, and Phèdre realizes she is crying. Phèdre falls limp in her bonds, overcome. _Yes_ , she thinks, or perhaps she says it out loud. _Yes_.

Too soon, Melisande set the cat down on the table at the foot of the bed. She presses her chest against Phèdre’s smarting back, and Phèdre whimpers at the sensation of velvet against her raw skin. Melisande reaches to cup each of Phèdre’s breasts, pressing her palms into Phèdre’s still-clamped nipples. Phèdre whimpers, pressing into the sweet agony of Melisande’s hands.

One of Melisande’s hands move lower, parting the slick folds of Phèdre’s centre, entering her easily. Phèdre cants her hips at the touch.

Melisande begins to rub the bead of Phèdre’s desire. With her other hand, she pinches Phèdre’s throbbing nipple, and Phèdre feels suspended between these two points of sensation, nipple and clitoris, pain and pleasure.

“Come for me,” says Melisande, her fingers rubbing inexorable circles against the pearl of Phèdre’s desire. 

And so Phèdre does, gasping and straining against her bonds, although she knows what is coming, knows that Melisande will not stop. And sure enough, Phèdre has barely come down for the heights of her pleasure when she feels it building again, Melisande’s hand still steady against her, coaxing yet another peak from Phèdre’s ever-yielding body. It hurts now, just a slight edge, but after she comes a second time and then a third it hurts more, and Phèdre whimpers, trying in vain to twist away, but of course she cannot, and of course she barely wants to.

And Melisande’s hand keeps going. 

Phèdre screams the forth time Melisande makes her come, screams at the rawness of her delicate flesh and the glorious helplessness of her predicament. When she first arrived in Melisande’s well-provisioned dungeon, she imagined that perhaps if she screamed someone would rescue her, but by now she knows better, and she screams only because her body wills it, nothing more. 

The fifth and final time, Phèdre feels as though her body has been wrung out like a wet rag. She hangs slack in her bonds, the ties digging into her wrists the only thing keeping her upright, Melisande’s hand a dark promise, Phèdre nothing but what Melisande desires her to be.

Melisande lets Phèdre down after that, and it is all Phèdre can do not to curl up into herself, cup the tender parts of herself with her own gentle hands. But Phèdre forces herself not to move, waiting for Melisande’s instructions.

Melisande settles back on the bed, drawing her skirts up to reveal her own slickness. She beckons for Phèdre to come closer, guiding Phèdre’s head between her legs, and Phèdre gratefully laps at Melisande’s juices. 

Melisande arches as she reaches the peak of her pleasure, pressing Phèdre’s face against her slick folds. Phèdre is light-headed, unable to draw breath, and she welcomes the torment, the totality of Melisande around her. Melisande’s legs shake. She takes, and takes, and Phèdre loses herself in the giving.

Afterwards, Melisande guides Phèdre’s head to rest against her slick thigh. Phèdre curls up, and leans into Melisande’s fingers, which run absently through her hair.

“Say it now, my love,” says Melisande, with casual authority. “Say this is exactly where you are meant to be.”

“This is exactly where I am meant to be, my lady,” says Phèdre, because it is so true she feels it in her very bones, and what else could matter but that?


End file.
